


bubblewrap

by rhysgore



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Cute Aggression, M/M, Masturbation, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 23:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20497364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysgore/pseuds/rhysgore
Summary: While he has Peter at the mercy of his illusion, Quentin breaks his leg.





	bubblewrap

While he has Peter at the mercy of his illusion, Quentin breaks his leg.

It isn’t hard. Quentin might not be blessed with the superhuman strength of so many other heroes, but just human strength is enough that when he brings his heavy boot down on Peter’s tibia, he hears and feels it snap beneath his foot. It’s an ugly sound, gristly and wet despite the bloodlessness.

And Peter, still caught in the nightmare world Quentin has crafted for him,  _ screams.  _ Screams, in terror and pain, in a horrible, ear-grating, animalistic way, right before the train hits him and silences him forever.

It’s an insurance policy, Quentin tells himself afterwards. Odds are, Peter is dead- no normal person could survive something like that. But Quentin has a habit of catastrophizing, and he knows Peter  _ isn’t _ a normal person. In their brief time together, and in all the footage of him that Quentin has meticulously reviewed to prepare for this role, he’s seen the kid shrug off injuries that should have been debilitating, if not fatal, as if they were nothing. If on some off chance Peter had survived initially being hit by a train going three-hundred kilometers an hour, and hadn’t subsequently been ground to a fine paste beneath its wheels, a broken leg would still slow him down, at the very least.

It was only practical.

He’s still buzzing with the energy of that encounter hours later, when he and his team finally arrive in London. They’ve put almost all the final touches on his master plan- a few individual crew members still need to prep and last-check the props and equipment, but Quentin excuses himself, deciding just this once that he doesn’t have to look over their shoulders to make sure they’re all performing up to snuff. Most of them are still a little shaken from his reaction to William’s fuckup, and Quentin almost feels bad for threatening them, before he remembers what a single act of incompetence had forced him to do to Peter Parker.

His crew is staying at a few different hotels, scattered throughout the city as to not draw attention, and Quentin’s is a little closer to the center of the city, nearer to where he’s going to be directing the show, but no nicer. The taxi ride gives him a little time to decompress, and his thoughts continually return to Peter. He’d expected to be disgusted with himself, but every time he closes his eyes, all he recalls is how the kid had looked right before the train had hit him, scared and small, sobbing in pain and fear, writhing on the ground up until the exact moment he’d realized how fucked he was. He’d been wearing his mask, and Quentin was a little disappointed.  _ Is  _ a little disappointed.

After all, he can imagine what Peter’s face must have looked like, but it would have been far better to see it. The kid was too damn pretty when he was in pain.

Instead of the expected disgust, Quentin finds himself hard.

He pays the cabbie, and hurries to his room as quickly as he can. The door is barely closed behind him before he’s got his pants around his ankles and a hand wrapped around his cock.

“Shit,” he breathes, sagging backwards. His eyes slip shut and he replays the scene in his mind again. Peter, helpless in the illusion. Falling flat on his ass, so afraid of something that wasn’t real, when the one thing he  _ should  _ have been scared of was just standing there, watching him. The satisfying crunch his leg had made when Quentin had stomped on it.

His cock twitches, oozing a globule of precome as Quentin works his fist over it, squeezing it to the point that it’s nearly painful. He hasn’t needed to get off this urgently in a long time, and this, like so many other things, is Peter Parker’s fault. Peter, whose body is probably smeared across twenty kilometers of German train tracks. Peter, who had bourne all his suffering so beautifully, just to meet such an ugly end. Peter, who died before he’d given Quentin the opportunity to hurt him more.

Quentin is almost disappointed.

His breath grows ragged as he strokes himself, fantasizing about what he’d do to Peter if the kid was still alive, if Quentin had him at his mercy again. He had some sort of healing factor, and the idea of it makes Quentin shiver, imagining hurting Peter over and over, cutting the same inch of flesh only for it to heal to the point where he might as well never have hurt him in the first place. Breaking his fingers again, and again, snapping each one individually, watching Peter’s face as he did it. Watching him struggle to not react, biting his lip in defiance until it became too much even for him, until he broke down, started to cry, begged for Quentin to stop.

He wonders what it would take to mark Peter permanently. Could he? Quentin considers cutting off one of Peter’s limbs, thinks about the fear in the boy’s eyes when he sees the saw, the horror of knowing exactly what’s about to happen to him. Real spiders can sometimes grow their legs back, though, so even something like that might not take. He really wouldn’t know unless he tried it.

Quentin’s never thought of himself as a sadist. He still doesn’t, not really. He’d read once there’d been a study done, where participants had been given bubblewrap to hold, right before they were shown a slideshow of animals. The cuter, the more vulnerable the animal, the more bubbles they’d popped. A primal urge to kill something defenseless.

And at the end of the day, powers aside, that’s just what Peter is. Defenseless. A prey animal. A soft, adorable thing that Quentin wants to crush under the heel of his boot. He can’t help it- it’s just human nature.

He comes with a kind of manic intensity, blood rushing all to his head at once as he bites down on his palm to stifle the noise. The walls in a place like this are thin and cheap, and the last thing he wants is to give anyone a reason to notice him before he wants to be noticed. His cum lands on the ugly grey carpet, soaking in alongside the bodily fluids of the dozen or so other people who had last used the room. Quentin is left catching his breath, iron on his tongue from where his teeth have broken the skin of his hand.

Pulling his pants off, he goes to wash himself off. He’s supposed to be resting up for his big performance tomorrow, not jerking off like a teen to an exercise in futility. Peter’s dead, more than likely- Quentin won’t get a chance to even see him again.

Still, despite how hard he’s tried to get rid of him, Quentin half-hopes Peter  _ did  _ survive. Next time, he wants to use his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. cute aggression and the experiment mentioned in here are both [absolutely real things](https://theconversation.com/explainer-what-is-cute-aggression-16884). the more you know  
2\. "spiders can grow their legs back" is also true, as long as they haven't finished growing yet. the new leg grows in with a new molt. does peter molt? i don't know. if you do know, feel free to tell me.
> 
> @maverickminuano on twitter


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